


The Wood Was Dark, The Grass Was Green

by cormallen



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-05-15
Updated: 2006-05-15
Packaged: 2017-10-26 13:19:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/283643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cormallen/pseuds/cormallen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-Half Blood Prince (written prior to Deathly Hallows). There's a strange boy living in the woods near The Burrow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wood Was Dark, The Grass Was Green

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 2005 -- baby's first long fic.
> 
> References to past Snape/Draco dub-con; off-screen supporting character death. Not compliant with anything following HBP.
> 
> Many thanks to Busaikko and Anoneknewmoose for the betas/hand-holding/etc.
> 
> * * *
> 
> My mother said I never should  
> Play with the gypsies in the wood;  
> If I did, she would say,  
> Naughty girl to disobey.  
> Your hair shan't curl,  
> Your shoes shan't shine,  
> You naughty girl, you shan't be mine.  
> The wood was dark, the grass was green,  
> In comes Sally with a tambourine.  
> I went to the river - no ship to get across,  
> I paid ten dollars for an old white horse,  
> I up on his back and off in a crack -  
> Sally, tell my mother I shall never come back.
> 
> \-- folk rhyme
> 
> * * *

_  
"The appetites on you lot," mum mutters irately, rummaging through the pantry. "There was a plateful of rolls left over from this morning not an hour ago!" A cupboard bangs shut, sending pans into a rattle, and she emerges, arms full of cups and plates._

 _"Sorry, Tonks, dear." She slams a pitcher of milk onto the table. "I'll make something up for you... porridge? Shouldn't take more than a minute."_

 _"Thanks, Molly." Tonks shifts in her seat. "Want some help?"_

 _"Er, no thanks," mum offers a bit too quickly. Tonks blushes and mows down a cup with her elbow. I give her a reassuring grin and go for my wand._

 _"Tonks, you're a guest, relax," I whisper to her out of the corner of my mouth, "I'm the one mum puts to work more often than not."_

 _I mutter a quick “Reparo” and swipe my cloak from its peg by the door._

 _"When he's up, tell Harry I've gone for a walk, mum!" I yell, pocketing the fixed cup._

 _"I'm not so sure that's a good idea," she replies, turning away from a bubbling pan, "dangerous --"_

 _"It's broad daylight. And the forest isn't going to be any safer than the house if..." I shoot Tonks a pleading look, "...help me out here."_

 _"You won't go too far, right, Ronnie?" she winks at me conspiratorially -- she's great to have around, that's for sure. "He's got his wand with him, Molly. And he's just going to go up to the creek for a bit. Back in an hour-ish, right? I'll do some patrolling later on, and fetch him if he dawdles."_

 _"Well... " mum concedes reluctantly, "as long as you are extra-careful. Keep an eye on the time, take one of those Muggle watches your dad keeps about. And if there is any sign of trouble at all, you come right back!"_

 _My cloak drapes awkwardly over this morning's rolls, wrapped up and stuffed into my right pocket. A tin of marmalade is in my left, and I've managed to fit the cup into the front pocket of my jumper, forming quite a conspicuous bulge. However, mum has gone back to stirring the lumps out of the porridge, and the open door is mine._

 _The sun is hanging right above the forest path -- it's almost noon -- oh, he's got to be so hungry by now...  
_

* * *

There is a boy living in the forest by the Burrow. I found traces of him at first -- broken branches and uprooted moss, rows of footprints in the muddy ground stamping a path to the creek. On the day I finally saw him, I'd promised Ginny I'd bring her some witch hazel, which grows in the cool spot where Otter Creek stretches and swirls and becomes the Otter River. The rules won't bend for Ginny; she isn't allowed this far out of the house, even with Tonks around, not these days. We were expecting Harry and Hermione to arrive soon; mum intends to shelter them both for as long as the Order will allow her, which is why Tonks's been posted here in the first place. Of course, Ginny and I have other plans, which, if found out, would prompt our parents to lock the four of us in the attic for times indefinite, but we've made Harry a promise. We aren't letting him walk into fire without us.

Still, neither battles nor promises distracted Ginny from her rigorous anti-freckle skincare routine -- yeah... girls... Her freckles couldn't possibly have any effect on Harry's resolve, but she'd been adamant about having a spot-free face by the time he arrived. So I'd gone to pick witch hazel for her in the dewy morning, because, inane as it is, I'd rather my sixteen-year-old sister worry about clear skin and bright eyes and not stronger shield charms, counter-curses and prophecies.

I had my wand at the ready the moment I saw the trampled ground. Clutching my collected herbs in my other hand, I advanced -- straight into a skinny boy, all ribs and kneecaps, his wet hair dripping all over Ginny's flowers. Oh, and he was completely naked.

" _You_!" the naked boy said, taking a wavering step back. " _You!_ What are _you_ doing here?!"

I waved my wand in front of his face. "Me? I live here. What are _you_ doing here? And why are you wandering around without any clothes on?"

"I washed them," the boy said defensively, crossing his arms over his chest, "I haven't got any others. And I wasn't _wandering_. I was bathing. At least it's warm out." He sniffled, running a hand through his wet hair. "That bastard took my wand."

"Who? Hold on, here --" still brandishing my own wand, I dropped the witch hazel I'd picked, and unclasped my cloak. "Take this. I can't talk to you when you're like _that_."

"Who said anything about talking? Pick up your posies and go," the boy suggested with a sneer, wrapping my cloak around his bony shoulders.

"I'm not leaving until I find out what a naked wizard is doing in my... well, practically my back yard!" I said, tracing the air with my wand in what I hoped was a threatening fashion. "So, you'd better tell me who you are, and what you are really doing here!"

"Fine! Fine, I'll subject myself to your interrogation. But unless you're planning on doing something useful with that -- " the finger he used to point at my wand had a broken, chewed nail, "put it away. I can't promise I won't lunge for it otherwise." He sneered again, turned around and began marching away from the water. The cloak swirled, giving me another view of his gooseflesh-covered legs.

"'Lunge for it'," I grumbled to myself, following. "Who does he think he is?"

The boy walked on with certainty, as if he'd been in these woods numerous times before. He turned down an obscure, narrow trail, used rarely by the village Muggles, if at all. When I was eight, Fred and George had led me down this way with promises of huge wild blackberries, the likes of which I'd never tasted. The berries had been plentiful and very sweet, and almost worth the half an hour or so I'd spent yelling for my brothers, who had hidden somewhere in the trees with a bet on how long it would take me to find either them or my own way home. This time I noticed that the blackberry bushes were picked clean of berries, and the grass around them carelessly trampled along with some of the low-hanging branches.

"Filthy nettles!" the boy exclaimed, stomping his foot repeatedly into the green. "Ow! Damn it!" He turned around. "You've got shoes on. Crush these for me," he commanded, and watched with satisfaction as I destroyed a clump of the stinging plants.

"Happy?" I asked, looking around. "How much farther until you tell me what I want to know?"

"Over there. There's a cave -- used to be a bear’s den or some such. Mine now, can you believe the luck?"

A once-white shirt, dripping slowly into a muddy puddle, was hung to dry on a tree branch in front of the cave mouth along with a pair of grey trousers with frayed bottoms.

"Come in. My cave is your cave. Should be plenty of room for the both of us. Say, are you capable of any drying charms?"

"I could try."

"Good. Dry those, then," he pointed at the branch, "and see if you can transfigure me some shoes. I am not used to this barefoot nonsense."

"Er... Okay." I pointed my wand at the clothes and cast, congratulating myself on not setting the tree aflame. "I'm sure you've got some extra important reason, but quit being such a prat. I'm not doing anything else for you until you answer my questions."

"Well, I'll be damned. Were you always this assertive, or are you just having a confident day?"

"Listen, you!" I snapped. "There's an Auror stationed within walking distance. Why don't I just let her sort you out?"

The boy clutched protectively at his -- my -- cloak and sniffled again. Looking at his pale, pointed face, the way he was miserably blinking his huge grey eyes, I felt a twinge of pity. Calling Tonks would only complicate things -- not to mention cause mum unneeded worry.

"Accio!" I said instead, catching his clothes in my arms and carrying them into the cave. It wasn't very large, but there was a pile of dried grass against the back wall, partially covered by a blanket. A small circle of rocks in the center held ash and the remnants of burned twigs; more twigs and a few larger pieces of wood lay to the side. I summoned those as well and lit the fire with a flick of my wand.

"It's daytime. Sun's up," he told me, sitting down cross-legged in the cave entrance. "Put that out. I haven't got that much wood left, and it's hell to gather."

"I'll help," I told him, surveying his meager store of berries, laid out on a scrap of cloth next to a piece of bark twisted into a cone -- his drinking cup.

I sat down next to the merrily crackling twigs. "I'm Ron, by the way. Ron Weasley. My family lives right outside the village -- Ottery St Catchpole. Over there." I pointed outside.

"Yeah. I'm Malfoy -- Draco Malfoy."

I couldn't help snickering. "Quite a fancy name for someone who lives in a cave."

"I knew you'd laugh," he muttered, absently picking at the dirt floor. "You think I like it here? You think I'd be here if it wasn't for _them_? It's not like I'm on holiday! You think it's bloody great, having no wand and no way out of here and nothing to eat most of the time, and..." He wiped at his nose, leaving behind a smudge of dirt.

"Hey, hey... I didn't mean it like that," I reassured him. "Just... well, it is kind of a strange name. Can't say I've met a Draco before. So, if you aren't a... what did Harry say Muggles call them... spelunker... then what are you doing here? Who are 'they', and who took your wand?"

"I thought he was my friend. Mother said he was," he glanced at me and moved closer to the fire. "He was supposed to help me -- he's the one who brought me here, said he'd be back as soon as he could, get me some food and supplies. Only he hasn't been back for two weeks, and I..." He snatched up a berry from his stock and popped it into his mouth.

"I tried to swipe some food from the shop in the village. Bloody Muggle caught me -- said he'd rip my arms off if he saw me in there again. I was hungry -- what was I supposed to have done? I found these --" he gestured at the blackberries -- "but it's not a lot, and they make my stomach hurt." Suddenly, he sprang up and punched the air with his fist. "Fuck! He was going to bring me a different wand -- said he'd bring mine to the..." he cocked his head and stared at me, eyes narrowed.

"Yeah?" I prompted.

"You know wh -- the man that wants me dead. He -- my friend -- they'd told him to kill me, except he'd promised to help my mother and me, so he brought me here instead. They've probably caught him, locked him up somewhere. They're probably torturing him. That, or he's turned on me. Going to come back with reinforcements, turn me in -- he's got plenty of people to go to for that..." Draco scrunched up his face like he was about to cry, even sniffled a bit more, then stomped his foot angrily.

"I can't leave here. I haven't got anywhere to go. And maybe, maybe he will come back. Maybe he got held up somewhere, maybe they sent him on some other mission. Maybe he'll... Maybe he'll miss me..."

He sat down once more, lifted up a twig and poked at the fire.

"Weasley," he said, without looking, "could I... Can I keep your cloak? You do have another one, yeah? It's not very warm out here at night."

"What? Yeah, sure. Except -- I don't understand, why would someone want you dead? Are you some kind of criminal? I'd have heard of you if you were, the Ministry'd have your picture plastered all over."

"I didn't do it!" He choked back a sudden sob. "I didn't, I didn't! That man -- my father was working for him, except he bollocksed it all up, and so did I, and now I've got to pay for it... Damn it all!” He sobbed full force this time, then looked at me and sneered.

"You like seeing me cry, Weasley?"

"No. Why would I?"

He shrugged. "Don't know. Plenty of people would love to see me cry."

"Well, I'm not one of them. So, this evil bloke your dad was working for, he got a hit-wizard to go after you, except the hit-wizard decided to help you, instead?"

"Sort of. He's mother's friend, yeah. He wouldn't hurt me, she said. But he left me here all alone, and I've got nothing, and I haven't got anywhere to go!"

"Where _is_ your mother?"

His eyes turned hard.

"She's dead. They killed her first, after I... after I didn't... I didn't do what they wanted me to do," he said very quietly, and looked away. He looked so small and miserable, sitting there with my cloak wrapped over his pale skin, his lower lip quivering, tendrils of pain rising off him like steam.

I wanted to ask him more -- was it Voldemort his father had angered, was it Death Eaters that had killed his mother after he didn't do whatever it was -- joined them, perhaps -- but I could feel his misery slipping through the air, sliding around me, sinking its claws into my flesh.

 _He's hurting. He's in danger. He's told you what he could, and he wants -- he needs you to help him. He's all alone. He hasn't got anyone. You don't need to know anything else, you see it -- he's in pain and he's alone and someone hurt him and he's in pain, in pain, in pain, in pain, he hasn't got anyone, not like you, miserable, hungry, alone --_

I shook my head. Poor bloke. He didn't look any older than me, maybe even a bit younger, but that was probably due to lack of food and proper shelter. His shoulders were twitching under the cloak, his eyes shut tight as if against intruders, and I reached out and touched a pale cheek.

He jumped as if I'd scalded him.

"Weasley, what are you doing?!"

"Hey. Call me Ron, alright? I’m going to leave now. But I am going to come back, and I'll bring you something proper to eat. You could come -- " bad idea, something in me suggested, it's probably safer for him to stay here for the time being, "-- well, no, you should probably stay here. Your friend could come back, and you want to be here for that. Alright? I'll be back. I promise."

* * *

I did come back that very day, with one of my spare blankets, a pair of Fred's old shoes which I hoped to transfigure to fit properly, a tin of biscuits, some marmalade, and a flask of juice. I also brought a bowl of mum's potato salad, untouched by me at dinner, a protective bubble I was rather proud of spelled around it for safekeeping.

The boy was lying on his pile of straw, facing the wall, and for a moment I was frightened. He didn't move as I approached, and I quickly set everything on the ground and knelt down next to him. I was extremely relieved to see that he was breathing -- asleep -- his face smooth and free of worry, and I watched him for a moment before shaking him by the shoulder. In an instant he bolted up and clutched at my throat. His fingers were cold and surprisingly strong, and I pushed frantically at his chest, trying to get him off me.

"It's Ron -- Weasley -- helping --" I rasped, "Draco, stop, stop!"

An icy band circled my throat, stifling my breath. My palms pressed helplessly against his ribcage, feeling his heart thumping faster and faster, almost as maddened as mine, _ba-bam, ba-bam_ , until, just as suddenly, his grip slackened.

"It's you," he said sheepishly. "You're back." He didn't apologize. "What've you brought me?"

I cleared my throat, willing my breathing to return to normal, and chuckled weakly.

"Got used to a good thing right quick, haven't you. What if I'd brought the Aurors?"

Even as I said it, I knew it was an empty threat. Of course, this boy didn't need Aurors. What would an Auror do for him, anyway? Question him incessantly, lock him up while they did checks and inquiries, and in the meantime, his dubious friend would return and find the cave empty. No, Draco didn't need Aurors. He needed me. He needed --

"Harry. Harry will help you," I blurted out.

Draco raised an eyebrow, continuing to chew intensively on a biscuit.

"Harry Potter. You've heard of him, right?"

He nodded and picked up another biscuit, dipping it in the sticky marmalade.

"These are good. Haven't had marmalade in a long time. How's famous Harry Potter going to help me?"

"He isn't just 'Famous Potter'. He's my friend, and he's going to be coming here -- to my house -- soon. He'll figure something out without getting the Ministry involved -- they don't like him much there."

Draco licked a stray crumb off of his palm.

"I don't need him. What can he possibly do?"

I sighed. "For someone in constant danger of being killed, you aren't being very reasonable."

"We are all in constant danger of being killed. There's a war going on, isn't there? You -- and your friend Potter -- ought to be aware of that, oughtn't you?"

I sighed again and grabbed a biscuit of my own. "He's not here yet, at any rate. Listen, I've been thinking. Maybe I could owl your friend for you? Let him know you're -- "

Scattering bits of potato all over the cave floor, he lunged at me, landing so close that our noses almost touched.

"Are you mad?" he asked in a surprisingly calm tone. "Psychotic? Raving? It's quite alright, you can tell me. A mad... friend... is better than no friends at all, I've come to find."

"What are you on about?" I replied, wondering how much longer he was going to spend breathing in my face.

"Think about it, Wease -- Ron. Ron." He said my name one more time, as if trying it out on his tongue, and finding it sufficiently tasty.

"If he is -- if they've got him, if he's locked up, or worse, then all of his incoming owls would be monitored and intercepted. Even if you don't use names, even if you use careful words like ‘someone you owe’ and ‘wandless’ and ‘someone you'd miss’, they'll figure it out. They aren't fools. Well, not when it comes to hunting down their prey, they aren't. They'd be here in minutes -- and they'd kill you and your pathetic little owl before they moved on to me. That's not nearly enough stalling time for me to escape."

"Pig's not pathetic! He's not very big, yeah, but he's not... how'd you know about my owl, anyway?" I exclaimed indignantly.

"Oh. Lucky guess, I suppose. May I continue?" He went on without actually waiting for my approval. "And if he's... turned on me, if this was all some sort of charade to get me to trust him so he could hurt me all the more, well, then, owling him's the last thing you want to do. He'd Apparate straight here -- and he'd kill you before he moved on to me. Again, not nearly enough time for me to save myself." He smiled. "If you're looking for a reason that's a bit less selfish on my part, consider that you die in either scenario, along with your owl, who seems to be named after a barnyard animal."

"Pig's not... never mind Pig. My sister named him. So, I guess, bad idea about the owling. But you can't just sit here and wait for something terrible to happen to you. If you're right about your, er, _friend_ no longer being your friend, maybe you shouldn't be here if -- when he gets back. You could watch from somewhere safe, see if he's really trying to hurt you."

"Brilliant. And how exactly am I supposed to tell if he is? You think dark wizards all have a glowing sign on their face that spells 'I am out to hurt you'? They haven't all got brands on their arms, either. Besides, he's a tricky one. He's... he's been in most everyone's good graces for years. Mother thought he was good, and so did his other... associates. But you-know -- the man that sent him after me -- he thought so too, except he couldn't have been good to all of them at once."

He stood up finally, and stretched, like a sated, sleepy cat.

"Think you could give this place a quick Scourgify? I don't fancy finding potato bits in my bedding."

* * *

I brought him food I saved from my own meals for several days after that, and mum kept telling me that if I went on eating that much, I wouldn't fit in my school robes in September. I thought about him whenever I wasn't sitting around his cave, trying to come up with a way to help him, although nothing I imagined seemed very possible. Oddly, whenever I got excited about some ridiculous scheme to hide him at our accountant cousin's, or to get him a wand from the confiscated box in dad's office, I couldn't quite conjure up an image of him taking part in any of them. It wasn't because the plans were rubbish -- although I knew they were -- it was more that when I wasn't looking right at his face, less drawn and pale now, I couldn't picture it in my mind.

He was like an elusive sort of thought, always out of reach, which made me want to spend time with him all the more. Whereas at first I'd found his demanding manner obnoxious, I began to think of it as appropriate. Draco slept on a pile of straw, wore cast-off clothes, relied on me for any food that didn't come from a bush, couldn't cast a single spell on his own -- it made perfect sense that he would compensate by pretending I couldn't refuse to cast another Lumos. It was his way of trying to stay in control of his surroundings, despite knowing it was a fruitless task.

"How did your family get to know this _friend_ that brought you here?" I asked once, careful not to mention his mother specifically, but it turned out to be unavoidable.

"He went to the same school my mother did," Draco said. It was plain that he was trying very hard not to remember that no matter how things turned out for him, he would never see his mother again. "He went on to teach there, too, after he passed his exams. He was my favorite teacher for a long time, before... " he trailed off, his bottom lip quivering slightly.

"Where did you go to school?" I quickly asked, trying to shift the subject out of dangerous territory, "I go to Hogwarts -- well, I went to Hogwarts. The Ministry's still unsure whether they'll let it reopen, it's been in the Daily Prophet for weeks."

"Oh. We went to different schools. I was at Hogwarts," Draco explained, naming a school I'd never heard of. Before I could ask where it was, Draco grabbed my hand.

"Ron. Tomorrow, will you bring me a Prophet? I'd like to see what's going on, you know, outside the cave."

"Sure. According to them, not much, though. De-gnoming season is about to start, Canada's walloping us in Quidditch, but Wales has the top spot on the broom-racing circuit so far. Four Gringotts associates have been arrested on suspicion of Death Eater ties, and the goblin management is furious. Same old."

"All the same, it'll give me something to do. Perhaps I'll translate the articles into Latin and recite them to the birds," he said with a grin.

* * *

"I know what you're doing out there every day," Ginny told me with a smirk, making me drop the stack of newspapers.

"Ginny! Bloody hell! Help me pick those up, would you?"

"Are you sure it's good for you to go out there quite so often?" she continued, grabbing up a page. "'Goblin Malcontents Incite Riot in Ministry Lobby'. Hm. I don't remember Dad mentioning that." She wadded the page up into a ball, and threw it down the hallway. "Anyway, mum's going to catch on."

 _Oh, bugger. Not mum_ , flashed through my head. Merlin only knew what mum would say if she found out about the boy; I could picture it now. "Ronald Weasley!" she would screech, "haven't I told you time and time again that these are dangerous times? He could be anyone -- Polyjuiced, Charmed, Metamorphed -- I am calling your father right away! He'll bring down the fellows from work, they'll put that boy right where he belongs -- far away from us! Think before you -- you are never leaving this house again, you hear me?"

 _Locked in the house? So what? Forget you! She'd report Draco_ , a little voice inside me niggled. _You don't want that. He hasn't done anything wrong. He doesn't deserve this. Make her stop._

"Ginny!" I panted, picturing a squad of uniformed guards brandishing wands at the cave mouth, "promise me you won't tell mum anything!"

She stared at me.

"Honestly, Ron. You'd think I'd tell anyone about this? That's disgusting! Besides, I understand, there's no privacy in this house," she sighed dramatically. "Still, you've got to remember, it won't fall off if you skip a day."

She handed me the remaining newspapers and headed up the stairs.

"Oi, Ginny!" I began. She turned around, one hand on the banister, a questioning look in her eyes. "It's not what you think! It's... there's a -- " _You don't want to do this,_ came to me suddenly. _She's going to tell you the same thing mum would -- and then she'll go straight to mum herself. And then_... My helpful imagination again supplied the picture of the cave under siege, and I tried to banish it by recalling Draco's skinny shoulders wrapped in one of my jumpers, but I could not. "Er, nothing. Never mind," I muttered, carrying the newspapers back to my room.

Ginny had thought I was leaving the house daily to... Trust my sister to come up with something ridiculous like that. Then, a different thought altogether reared its head. Did Draco...? He certainly didn't have much else to do, and I was all too familiar of where my hands kept sneaking to if left alone and idle for too long.

"The Daily Prophets, got to get those all ready," I said loudly to myself, trying to think of something else. I was feeling a bright blush creep into my cheeks, worse than it had on the stairs with Ginny, and was quite glad she'd quit her preposterous accusations and left me by myself. All the same, I thought, maybe I should get Draco something else to read, not just old papers. Opening my door a crack, I looked out to make certain Ginny was nowhere in sight; satisfied with my reconnaissance, I crept up to Fred and George's old room, and pointed my wand at the windowsill. The panel slid open.

Aha! There they were, the magazines abandoned by my brothers and missed by mum. I gave the glossy naked witch on the cover a quick once-over. She winked at me, preening, lifted up a manicured hand, and sucked on a pale pink thumb.

* * *

"I can't believe you!" Draco chortled, thumping his fists on his thighs. "It was a nice thought -- very creative, to be sure -- but you should have asked me first!"

"Ask you what?" I mumbled, debating between hexing the madly giggling boy sitting next to me and running out and never coming back.

"Don't be thick, Weasley -- Ron," he corrected himself, "obviously, I mean, you should've asked about my, er, reading preferences!"

"Your preferences?" I clarified, staring at the tiny bits of rock in the dirt at my feet.

"Naturally," he continued laughing, "not everyone likes the same things you do!"

"I don't... I... All Ginny's fault... hell..." I was hoping the cave floor would open up and swallow me whole.

"To tell you the truth, I am a bit disappointed. You like _her_?" he pointed at the cover-witch, who had angrily turned her pink bottom on him and the world.

"It’s not even mine," I managed, forcing my tongue to obey me, "I don't... Fine! Tell me your bloody preferences, then!" Calling up all the remnants of my pride, I looked at him expectantly. "Draco Malfoy likes...?"

"Well, for starters, they oughtn't to be girls," he grinned, then chortled again. "I can't bloody believe this! This may very well be the last bit of reading I do in my life -- and it's a sodding Playwizard!"

"Got you to laugh, didn't it?" I grunted, feeling a strong urge to kick him.

* * *

Most of my dreams were nightmares. "Malfoy -- Draco Malfoy," they taunted between bright flashes of curses aimed at me. "He left me here all alone. I was at Hogwarts. You like _her_?" they chortled and hexed me with a spellotaped wand, forcing something slimy and cold through my throat. I hadn't used that wand in ages; it had broken on the very first day of second year. While I dimly recalled conjuring up some nasty slugs with it in a backfired attempt to do something else entirely, I couldn't understand why I dreamed of it now, especially in relation to Draco. Of course, nightmares were hardly logical. I was simply afraid, I reasoned, anxious about Harry as well as Draco, worried about my father every day he left for his job at the Ministry, worried for Professor Lupin every time Tonks took too long to receive a letter... At least when Harry got here, I could tell him about Draco, and one of the sources of my fretting would resolve itself.

 _You don't want to tell anyone about Draco, remember?_ echoed through me in the darkness of the room, and I sat up in my bed. The wind beat insistently at my window frame, chasing the thick clouds over the moon, and I wondered if Draco was warm enough out there. The gusts of wind were strong enough to have scattered his fire; would he be listening carefully for every other noise in the pitch black of the forest, the crush of twigs, the crunch of gravel, his nails driven anxiously into his palms?

A few days prior, I had put a very weak alarm ward on the patch of grass right outside the cave, the best I could muster, but still quite pathetic. At least Draco would have a few moments' notice before he had any unexpected or unwelcome visitors. Harry could probably do a better one -- Harry would arrive and figure out what to do, and if he didn't, surely, Hermione would.

 _Are you mad?_ Draco's voice sounded so close for a moment that I hopped out of bed and looked around the room to make certain he wasn't hiding in a corner. _You can't tell Hermione. That's just as bad as telling Ginny or your mum._ I trusted Hermione, but as I thought about it more and more, I came to the conclusion that telling her anything about the cave was a bad idea. She would likely give me the same speech about my safety that mum would -- and I already knew what that would result in.

Just then, the window shook with the force of the gale, and I shivered, grabbing for my wand. Pressing my nose against the glass, I tried to make out the shape of the forest beyond the field, the trees swaying black against the black sky.

The hall clock showed an hour past midnight. The traitorous stairs creaked with each of my steps, even as I tried to tread carefully. I could hear Dad's faint snoring from off to the left, punctuated by clock ticks as I crept downstairs, through the kitchen, and grabbed a spare lantern from the shelf. I'd already brought Draco the one we kept in the shed. Thankfully, Mum had blamed its disappearance on the impertinent garden gnomes, resolving to start the de-gnoming as soon as we had Harry's added help.

The wind ripped at my jumper and crawled under my vest as I crossed the field, making the lantern flame shiver in its glass and iron setting. The forest looked so strange and foreboding in the night, the narrow trail to the creek guarded by mammoth tree trunks. I stumbled over a root, but didn't fall, trying to get a better feel for the path. I kept a hand on the wand in my pocket until I reached the clearing, reminding myself that I had been in far more frightening places than this one.

There was no fire, but he wasn't asleep. He was sitting in the black cave mouth, all of his blankets wrapped tightly around him, still and staring into the night.

"Draco!" I yelled, the lantern's light bouncing off of his face, "get up!"

He stood slowly, the blankets shedding off of him one by one until I saw that he was, for some reason, naked again. The cast-off quilts pooled around his feet, the shadows of branches landing on him in black zigzags.

"I couldn't sleep," he said with a little smile, "and I was really hoping you'd come."

"You were?" I mumbled, suddenly noticing the jagged shadow that danced darkly down his chest and stomach. "You sleep naked?"

"They haven't got pajamas in the woods," he said with a shrug.

"All the same, I... you shouldn't have to sleep out here tonight. Wherever _he_ is, he won't be coming out for you now."

"What are you suggesting?"

"You can sleep at the Burrow. Don't worry, I won't tell anyone. I can sneak you back out in the morning, after dad is off to work and mum is out in the kitchen garden."

"A secret plan. All right," he said, ducking back into the cave. When he emerged, he was wrapped in the blankets once more, and I assumed there were clothes underneath. "Lead the way to the weasel den. You're supposed to laugh at that last bit, by the way."

I managed a chuckle; something about the way he said 'weasel' grated unpleasantly at the back of my mind, but I couldn't quite put a finger on it. We walked back to the house as quickly as we could manage it, what with Draco's bulky covers dragging behind him like a mantle. Ginny, mum and dad were still in their rooms, sleeping and unaware of my absence. I led my secret up the creaky staircase, and opened the door to my bedroom.

"It's a bit cramped, but it still beats a cave, I reckon. You can take the bed; I'll sleep on the floor. Just toss me down a pillow, would you?"

I wound the alarm clock and locked my bedroom door as an extra precaution before putting out the light. There was a worn rug covering the floor, but even with a pillow under my cheek, it wasn't comfortable. I wondered how pleasant Draco's straw bed had been, and turned onto my side. I could hear the springs of my mattress creaking as Draco settled in, the rustle of the bed covers he was no longer used to.

"Ron," he hissed, breaking me out of my doze. "Ron! Don't be daft!"

"Huh?"

Draco leaned down from the bed and pulled at my pillow.

"You are being stupid. It's your bed, come up. Plenty of covers for all."

"Er, share with you?"

He giggled quietly. "You _are_ daft. That's what I said, isn't it? Just get up here already, or I'll start feeling guilty, and guilt's not something I like to indulge in."

"If you say so," I said uncertainly, wondering what it would mean if I spent the night in the same bed with Draco. While I tried to come up with a reasonable rebuttal, my pillow was wrenched out from under me.

"Blanket goes next."

"This is what I get for my hospitality and kindness? I'll just summon them right back, you git."

"I'll scream," he threatened between giggles, "and how are you going to explain that to your parents when they rush in in their nightclothes, wands blazing?"

"Fine. I'll come to bed if it stops you pestering me. It's the middle of the night, and I'd like to get some sleep," I grumbled, as Draco moved over to make room.

The feel of someone else in this bed -- the bed I'd slept in when I was six and eight and eleven, the bed my mum had tucked me into on so many nights after a story -- was strange. Draco was warm and greedy, pushing at me with his knees and pulling at the covers, but despite all this, I was asleep within minutes.

* * *

Bright sunlight poured over my face, coaxing me awake. Looking over at my nightstand, I realized that the alarm wasn't due to go off for another hour.

 _Draco_ , I remembered, feeling him breathe beside me. I turned towards him with the intention of shaking him awake as well, and _blinked_.

He'd pushed his blankets off in his sleep. My previous night's assumption about him wearing clothes was startlingly, brazenly proven false. The sun drew merry pink squares over his bare arms and legs, over his half-hard prick --

I blinked once more, and even rubbed my eyes, but the naked bloke was still in my bed, stretched out over the pillows. _"Well, for starters, they oughtn't to be girls,"_ I remembered suddenly as I stared.

"Mhm," he muttered, without opening his eyes, "like what you see?"

"Nothing I haven't seen already," I managed. "So, I guess you're awake."

"He liked it, you know." Draco's eyes were still closed, and he hadn't moved at all, which was a good thing, I decided. I could feel my face turning a particularly hot shade of red, and the bed seemed to be getting smaller by the second.

"I let him," Draco continued, "I knew he wanted to, and I wanted -- well, I wanted to live. Wasn't too high a price, in the grand scheme of things. It's quite possible he paid much more -- unless he swindled me, that is." He lazily opened one icy grey eye. "Of course you'd sleep in pajamas, wouldn't you. Family wouldn't appreciate you sauntering to the toilet au naturelle. Speaking of which, where's the bathroom?"

I pushed off my own covers and went to unlock the door, then listened for a minute. Everything seemed quiet enough, so I risked a peek out.

"Go, now," I hissed, "first door on your left. We've got time, if you want a proper shower, too."

"You wouldn't believe just how much," he replied quickly, swiping my dressing gown from the bedside chair. "You don't mind, do you?"

I sat back down on the bed, trying not to think of everything Draco had just said. Thinking of Draco was unavoidable -- after all, I'd invited him into my house, and even now he was running the water in my shower, undoubtedly enjoying his first soap and hot water wash in weeks. Somehow it hadn't occurred to me to bring him soap or a towel before, even though I'd been aware of his only bathing accommodations since the day I met him.

I couldn't help but wonder what the man responsible for Draco's predicament was like. Not the person who had ordered him caught for his father's mistakes, but the man who'd _liked it_ , the hit-wizard, the man who... What had he done with Draco, anyway? _"I let him"_ was a phrase that implied so much and so little at the same time -- after all, Draco had let me look at him -- not that I'd invited that sort of behavior. _"He liked it, and I let him,"_ I thought again, my mind drawing up a tall man with harsh, dark eyes and a foreign accent, the quintessential hit-wizard with two wands hanging artfully from his belt, the one with the broad chest and square jaw. The novels which Ginny painstakingly hid from mum had such wizards pictured on cover after cover, their black-gloved hands supporting half-swooning blond witches.

Draco's hair was blond.

* * *

"Tell me about your family," he asked as I walked him back to the cave.

"Er, well... You could meet them -- if you wanted -- but I really don't think that's a good idea. Mum would definitely ask dad to do something, and dad works for the Ministry, and, well... you know.” I shrugged. "They'd probably arrest you for 'nefarious ties with unsavory characters' or something. When Harry comes --"

"I didn't ask about Harry," Draco wrinkled his nose, "I asked about your family."

"Harry is like family. Mum's eighth child, really. And there's a ghoul that lives in our attic. He's sort of like family, too."

"Hmph. I don't have any brothers or sisters, not officially, anyway. They say father's got a bastard or two, but I wouldn't know. He certainly didn't say before... and now..." he stopped awkwardly. "I can't stand this, this waiting, for Merlin-only-knows-what! The only thing worse than _him_ never coming back for me would be _him_ coming back for me!"

Although the two possibilities seemed identical, I knew what Draco meant; I didn't blame him for not saying "coming back to kill me".

"Do you miss him?" I asked suddenly, resuming a comfortable pace.

He thought about it for a moment, his hands clasped together in front of him, his thumbs wrestling with each other as he walked.

"I don't -- I'm afraid to. I do." He swallowed audibly. "At first, I only did it because it was the only thing I had left to bargain with. I didn't think I'd... I didn't think it would even work. He is, I don't know, strange, I guess; I'd never seen him with anyone, man or woman, but they used to say he was, you know... Father'd call him a fairy and a poof -- not to his face, of course. But it's not like it would've been my first time, or anything. He had me in a room -- locked in -- and when he came in that day, I _knew_. He didn't say anything, but I knew they'd told him to do it, to finish it... he had his wand, but he was hesitating, just standing there, looking at me. I'd seen him look at me so many times before -- when he'd called on me in class, when he'd come by to see mother, on any number of perfectly mundane, ordinary occasions -- but the way he looked at me that day..." Draco shuddered, and turned to me. "Do you know what it's like, to have someone who used to come to holiday dinner, who used to teach you how to properly hold your arm when stirring a sleeping draught, someone you knew and trusted, look at you like that? Like he's going to slice you open, but is just pausing to think up the most convenient way to do it? And I thought, what else have I got left to do? So I got on my knees and undid his buttons, and he just stood there as if he were Petrified."

"And..." I muttered hoarsely, my breaths coming fast and ragged.

"I begged for my life," Draco said matter-of-factly, as if the words meant _Say, what nice weather we're having_ , not _I sucked my intended murderer's cock in hopes he would reconsider_.

"And then?" I prompted, dimly aware that we'd made it to the forest clearing, that the trees were rustling calmly, the birds chirping, the sun shining just like they would do if all was right with the world.

"After it was finished, he hexed me. I don't know what spell, but it knocked me out; I woke up and we were in a different room, somewhere I'd never seen before, not in the place they'd been holding me, and not his house. He was still staring at me, only now he looked tired and weak, and he said, 'You foolish, foolish boy'. And then I begged some more. Really begged, with words," he added, noticing my flustered appearance.

"He kept me there, in a room that was warded and locked. I am not sure for how long. I think it was a cellar; there were no windows, but I heard him walking down a set of stairs every time he came for me. Every time he came, I begged. He never said one way or the other, never had his wand too far from him, but he never hurt me, either. Once, he told me that he'd fancied me, only I'd still been his student back then, and of course, neither of us had known things would turn out as they did. That day, he spelled me unconscious again, and I woke up to find that he'd brought me here. He told me he had to bring my wand to his... employer, and that he'd bring me one when he could, and he left me some things -- that blanket over there, a bit of food... He said he'd be back as soon as he could manage it, after he'd let them know it was... I was dead, and he'd take me somewhere else, somewhere safer. Only... well, you know the rest."

"You actually _miss_ him? He -- he -- he was your professor, and he... ugh -- " I let out a disgusted sigh – “and he kept you locked up and forced you to.... and you miss him? He was supposed to be a friend of your family, and he let some dark wizard order him to kill you?"

"You think they would have let him live if he refused?" Draco sat down on the grass. "And in case you haven't been listening, he didn't force me. I did it."

"But he just let you... he took advantage of you, of the whole situation! If he'd really wanted to help you, he would have taken you out of there that first day, and he wouldn't have just sat back and enjoyed you doing things you didn't want to do!" I was getting rather loud, but I didn't care. I couldn't believe I'd actually thought owling the bastard would help Draco.

"I suppose he probably wouldn't have been my first choice of partner had the situation been different. But he's not missing anything a man ought to have, and he's not unattractive, in his own way. Aside from the extra incentive, it was just like doing it with any other bloke -- not that you'd know anything about that. Wait, that's not what's been bothering you, is it? That he's a _he_?"

"No," I muttered, feeling myself blush, which seemed to be far too common an occurrence when I was in Draco's company. "I don't care who you like, but it's not a question of 'like' here! The two of you -- "

"We used each other, alright? You're quite correct, preference had nothing to do with it, at least, not for me. It was about me surviving, and so far I have, and yes, I wish he were here! I'd like to see what you'd do in my shoes!" Draco crossed his arms over his chest, and squeezed his lips together tightly.

"Listen," I said, "I don't know what I would have done, if I'd been you, and I hope I never have to find out. All the same, I agree with your..." I struggled for words, " _friend_ , this isn't the safest place for you to stay. I was thinking, maybe you could sleep at the house all the time, and check in here during the day? As long as the cave's got your things, he'll be able to tell you're around."

Draco's entire face burst into a smile. "Really?"

I nodded, and sat down next to him.

* * *

"These itch, and the legs ride up, and they are bloody uncomfortable," he grumbled, buttoning the cuffs of the pajamas I'd lent him.

"They're the only ones you're getting, sorry. I just -- it's not proper to go without."

"I thought you said you went to boarding school. Last I checked, dormitories aren't exactly a showcase of modesty."

"And I'm not exactly comfortable sharing my bed with a naked bloke, alright? Don't know if that's a common practice in your dorms, but it's not in ours."

Draco rolled his eyes, and finished doing up the buttons.

"And there I thought you'd be jumping at the chance. Fine, I'll indulge you."

I'd lost count of how many times he'd caused my face to turn a merry shade of red.

"I'll have you know, I have a girlfriend."

He looked me up and down in amusement. "You don't say... really? Someone from your school, or does the village have more than surly shop-keeps?"

"We've been friends since first year. She's very nice -- Mum likes her, and Ginny does, even my brothers do."

Draco cocked his head.

"Do _you_ like her?"

I was giving myself a huge mental kick for bringing up Hermione; of course, now he was going to ask uncomfortable questions, and expect uncomfortable answers, and I didn't think I was going to be able to say anything at all. "What do you mean by that?" I stalled, sitting down on the bed.

"Nothing, I suppose. If it were me, I wouldn't start off by listing all the members of the family who like my significant others. Not that I'd ever have a reason to..." he trailed off, inspecting his nails. The thought hung limply in the air between us; his family wouldn't approve of his choices -- if they were in any position to do so, if he was supposed to be alive, if...

Draco crawled under the covers and lay on his back.

"My mum would probably have a fit," I let out, my mind thoroughly occupied with trying think of anything I could do diffuse this extremely unpleasant situation.

"Would she?" he asked in a slightly shaky voice. I reached out and patted his shoulder in what I hoped was a reassuring manner.

"I'm sorry I brought this whole thing up. I know it's really hard for you, with what happened, and your mum, and... I'm no good at this; Ginny says I always know just the right thing to make someone feel worse. You'll be OK, though. We'll figure something out, I promise, don't be afraid. We will."

He smiled weakly. "I'm not afraid with you. You've done so much for me already, I don't know if I'm ever going to be able to pay you back."

I blushed again, but this time, it wasn't an entirely unpleasant feeling.

"Don't worry," I repeated, and put out the light.

* * *

Draco's breathing was even and calm next to me, but I couldn't get to sleep. Ridiculous thoughts, each more disconcerting than the last, raced through my head in an endless game of tag. I tried to quiet them, but they didn't give up, and finally, I couldn't deal with it any more. I rolled over decidedly, and poked Draco in his side, hard. He sighed loudly, but didn't wake, and I poked him again, noticing with a start that he'd managed to somehow rid himself of the pajama top.

"Wha--" he muttered sleepily. "Was I snoring? I'll turn over, 'k..."

"No, it's not that," I whispered. "I wanted to talk to you."

He yawned loudly, and rubbed at his eyes. "What time is it? Push over, I've got to go to the loo."

I obliged, feeling his flannel-covered legs slide over mine, and turned away as he fumbled with the door lock and checked the corridor.

"All clear. I'll be right back, and then you can tell me why you got me up at two o'clock in the morning."

"Yeah," I replied weakly. "Sorry."

He was back in a few moments, crawling over me heavily to his side of the bed.

"Bet your feet are warm -- no, don't pull them away -- how am I supposed to keep mine from freezing? So, what is it you wanted?"

"Don't laugh," I muttered, pushing aside his obnoxious, icy toes, "it's important. To me."

"Okay," he said uncertainly. "You need me to promise, or something?"

I sighed. "No. Just forget about it."

His hands grabbed at the collar of my pajamas.

"I don't think so. You woke me up, so you get to tell me what you were going to. Otherwise, you're just being rude. I'd get offended, and then you'd get offended right back, and you'd probably end up hoarding all the blankets once I fell asleep, just to make yourself feel better, and where would that leave me?"

"You're laughing at me already. I knew this was stupid."

He leaned in, letting go of my shirt. "I'll stop. Just tell me, Ron. I promise not to be an ass about whatever it is, how's that?"

I shook him off, burying my face in my pillow.

"How did you first know? You know, that you were... that you didn't... that you don't fancy girls?" My voice was muffled, but I knew he heard.

"Oh," he breathed out, "oh. That's what you... Oh!"

"You promised not to be an ass, remember?" I pointed out, still not lifting my head.

"I'm not. I'm just trying to figure out how to say it. It's kind of a complicated answer. I did see a couple of girls -- I took one to a Yule thing we had my fourth year, and then we sort of saw each other for a while after that, except it never really felt right. I couldn't just stop, though, she would've told people, and it would get back to my father, and he'd... anyway, there was someone on my Quidditch team. I thought he looked so hot in his uniform, all that leather padding, you know. We used to wait for each other after practice --"

"You played Quidditch at school? I'm -- was, I guess -- Keeper for my House team."

"Yeah? I was Seeker. Anyway, I was lucky. He liked me back, and he didn't think there was anything wrong with me, or him, and he was fine with us sneaking around while I was still seeing Pans-- my sort-of-girlfriend."

"That's what I have," I muttered, looking up. "A sort-of-girlfriend. She's probably the best friend I have, though, other than Harry, and, I don't know, everybody just expected us to get together. Ever since I didn't ask her to our Yule Ball -- we had one when Hogwarts hosted the Triwizard Tournament -- all my dorm mates said I was acting jealous, and I was, I didn't want some Bulgarian git to steal my friend. Then later, I tried going with Lavender, she's another girl in my year, because it seemed like the normal thing to do. All we did was sit in corners and snog; the whole time, I tried telling myself I liked it, but... I was so happy when we finally stopped. Anyway, even Harry thinks Hermione and I will get together now, and _she_ definitely does... I don't know, I just don't think of her like that. I don't think of any girls like that."

Draco shifted closer to me.

"Have you tried anything, you know, with a bloke?"

"I've hardly tried anything with a girl. Yeah, I know, it's embarrassing. I'm practically ready to move out on my own, and I haven't... I-thought-Harry's-godfather-was-really-good-looking,” I blurted out in one big word, "but he was Harry's godfather. And he... he's gone, now."

"Oh. Well, then, seeing this Hermione of yours is the last thing you want to be doing. Get out, see more people -- maybe you just haven't met the right person. If you spend all your time with someone you don't fancy, how will you find out who you _do_ fancy? You've got to try --"

"I do want to try," I interjected, catching his warmed up foot between both of mine, "I've been thinking of trying ever since the time I brought you those sodding papers."

"I," he said, but I didn't let him finish.

"I know you say you miss him, but I am not him, and you can't tell me you haven't been trying to get me to do, I don't know, something!"

"You're really funny when you get all angry like that," he said. And then he touched my jaw, tracing a startlingly hot finger up to my lips. "So what if I am trying to get you to do... _something_?"

I grabbed at his hand as he dragged his fingertips over my mouth, pushing it away; then I reached over and kissed him clumsily.

It wasn't at all what I expected. I didn't think anything but a girl's mouth could feel so soft, so surprisingly delicate, especially when Draco stuck out the very tip of his tongue to give my lips a warm lick. I followed his cue, parting my own lips, and was rewarded with another swipe of that tongue before it searched around for mine. It was nothing like kissing Lavender; it was nothing like my inevitable kisses with Hermione had been. His naked arm slid around my back, another stroked through my hair; I couldn't decide whether I was thrilled or embarrassed that my pajama bottoms were suddenly feeling scratchy and tight, that I wanted Draco to keep kissing me until we --

A door banged open, and a pair of feet thudded through the corridor; another door creaked shut.

I pulled away from Draco as quickly as I could, reflexively drawing my blanket over my head in sudden fear.

"Your door's locked, remember?" Draco whispered in my ear, burrowing under the covers next to me. "Hmm, this looks surprisingly like my present home."

"Draco, maybe this wasn't the best idea. We should just --"

"But you liked it; I know you did."

"I liked it," I admitted, "but I'm pretty sure that's mum in the hallway. I can't, not now..."

"Tomorrow, then. In the forest, after breakfast," he deftly unbuttoned my top button and let his fingers travel across my chest, "we can try again."

* * *

He snuck out early the next morning; I hardly felt rested when the alarm announced it was time for him to go, and Draco reassured me he didn't need an escort.

"Go back to sleep. You can come by later," he said, watching me try to pull a shirt over my head and get tangled in a sleeve. "Bring more biscuits, those square ones with the little crown shape on top. I've finished that tin from last week already."

"Sure," I promised, settling back down, "I'll see if there are more. You've got about twenty minutes before mum gets up to make dad's breakfast, if you want a shower or anything."

"Maybe some other time," he yawned. "See you later."

Although I still felt like I could use at least five more hours of uninterrupted sleep, I couldn't relax. _"Ronald Weasley,"_ Hermione called in my head, in a voice that sounded disturbingly like mum's, _"I cannot believe you kissed a boy last night. How will you ever tell me about it?"_

"That's just it," I muttered to myself, "there's no way I could! I can't tell her I've been counting the days until she got here, because if I have, it's because there weren't enough of them." I rolled over onto my stomach, and propped my pillow up against the headboard.

"Say you're Hermione," I told it, and although it wouldn't reply, I went on. "There's no possible situation in which I could say to you, 'I think I might be gay, but I am just not sure. What do you think I should do,' because that's not even close to what you need me to say. 'I need you to be my friend right now, because I am confused, and I need some advice' wouldn't work either, because that's not the same as 'Hermione, we've been dancing around it the whole time, and I'd like you to be my girlfriend'. 'Hermione, I kissed a boy last night, and he kissed me back, and it felt kind of good, and I am thinking of doing it again...' not even close." I mashed the pillow with my hands and lay back down on it in frustration.

I'd kissed Draco last night, and he'd kissed me back, and I wanted to do it again, I realized; surprisingly, this wasn't a bothersome or uncomfortable revelation. The more I thought about it, the more normal the entire situation felt. I'd been unsure of things, and I was trying to work them out with someone that I liked -- _"Stop!"_ the Hermione voice exclaimed indignantly. _"You like him? Since when?"_

"Shut it," I told the pillow, pressing the side of my face into it, hard, for emphasis. "That's right, I do like him. I like being around him, and I like talking to him. I don't want anything bad to happen to him, and I am going to keep helping him as much as I can. And when Harry gets here, I'm going to be honest with him, at least. I'm going to tell him we need to find a way to help Draco, and we will. But that's not today. Today I'm going to," I yawned, slurring my words, "go see Draco..."

Before I dozed off, I wondered what he was doing at that precise moment; probably walking into the forest, feeling the still chilly morning breeze on his face, maybe thinking about me.

* * *

"You all finished hibernating?" Draco asked, rifling through the parcel I'd set down in front of him.

"I only slept till noon," I said indignantly, "and even so, I'm on holiday, I'm allowed. Oh, by the way, we were all out of those biscuits you wanted; the ones in there are good, too."

He pouted slightly. "I'll let it go, this time. Next time, I won't be so forgiving."

I chuckled. "Beggars, if you recall, can't be choosers."

"I bet you'd love to try out my begging skills," he snorted, busying himself with the rest of the food as I stared at him, mouth agape.

"You, uh, offering what I think you're offering?" I stammered, my voice suddenly hoarse.

He arched an eyebrow, and looked me up and down.

"Well, I don't think we're quite there yet. If you count last night, this is only our second date."

"I... we're..."

"You should see your face right now," Draco said with a grin. "It's like a ripe beetroot. Let's not get ahead of ourselves here. Sit down, have a biscuit with me. Oh, honestly, Ron, quit looking at me like I'm about to swallow you whole. I like you, alright? I wouldn't have let you kiss me if I didn't, and I definitely wouldn't have, er, flirted with you most shamelessly for the last week and a half." He bit into an apple and winked at me.

I laughed nervously.

"Relax," he said, "now you know. If you'd rather leave it at that, I'll understand." He grinned again. "But I will mope. And then you'll have to make me feel better, and I'll be inconsolable, and you'll be very sorry. Joking, joking, see?"

"Yeah," I laughed more sincerely. "I see."

"Something tells me I won't have cause to mope," Draco looked at me seriously. "Will I?"

"I like you," I told him, blushing even more.

* * *

Draco tasted sweet, like apples and marmalade, and for a moment I found it almost painful that someone else -- more than one someone else -- got to find that out first; I banished that stupid, selfish thought as I closed my eyes. He pulled my tongue into his mouth, the soft lips encircling it gently, and a tingle began to form somewhere inside my chest and snaked down to my stomach and my legs, a hungry, insistent, greedy tingle that sent my arms tightly around his thin back. I felt his spine under my fingers, the nape of his neck -- he let out a little moan as I stroked it lightly, pulled away.

"What?"

"I want to take off your shirt, is that okay?" he asked, and I bravely replied that he could, but only if he took off his.

"Do you even need to ask?" he smiled, and I did too, as we unbuttoned each other's buttons. Without warning, he leaned down and latched on to one of my nipples, and I gasped. It felt strangely good; he was nibbling at it slightly, flicking his tongue over it as it stiffened, squeezing those soft lips tightly around it. I searched his chest until I found the little nubs there, and pinched them between my fingers.

"Harder," he mumbled, moving his mouth to the other side of my chest, "like this." His teeth closed sharply on my skin, pulling, teasing, and that same tingle, the one I only felt by myself, and never with Lavender or Hermione, shot through me again, settling finally between my legs.

Draco moved, his mouth mapping out a little path up to my collarbone, then licked the hollow there.

"I can feel you," he whispered, pressing his face into my neck. "You must really like this..." Without warning, his hand darted out and cupped at my zipper; it was like getting hit with a Jelly Legs Jinx. My knees wobbled as Draco drew endless circles with his palm; I leaned heavily onto his shoulder, shivering helplessly under this incredibly simple touch, something I'd done to myself on so many occasions. But there'd never been warm breath tickling my cheek, no lips and teeth worrying gently at my neck, no throaty whisper in my ear -- _"I want to do everything to you"_ \--

"Draco, stop," I managed, "I'm going to fall, this is --"

"No problem," he replied, and then he pulled me down onto his worn blanket, the slightly musty straw scent billowing around us.

I landed awkwardly on my arse, but it didn't matter, because Draco was crouched between my knees, pressing quick, flighty kisses against my chin and bottom lip, my cheekbones, my temple... His hand wound into my hair, pulling slightly, while the other was, oh, bloody hell, undoing my zipper...

I let out a strangled cry when Draco's hot fingers pried through the thin cloth of my pants and claimed my hard cock, wrapping cleverly around it and squeezing, slightly at first, then a bit harder. For a moment, he didn't move, just held on to me, but then his hand suddenly slid down my length, and I lost it. I grabbed his head in my hands, pulling him in for a hard, greedy kiss as I thrust frantically against his smooth fingers. I mouthed at his lips, his tongue, still holding onto him like a man drowning, that sweet tension rising through me in a wave until it covered me completely.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to -- so soon, I -- " I found myself mumbling, but Draco lifted his fingers to his mouth and _licked_ , as if it was a perfectly ordinary thing to do.

* * *

I lay on my back, counting the myriad tiny cracks in my bedroom ceiling, doing my best not to reach too close to Draco. The distance between us, mapped out by borders of sheets and quilts, was almost too much; I tried not to think of his warm skin, so inviting underneath his borrowed pajamas, of his hands, clasped calmly over his chest.

"Ron, this is... well, stupid. You can share your bed with me, but you can only touch me outside?"

"I just... I can't," I said, tracing a particularly long fissure with my eyes. "This is my parents' house. This was Bill's bed, until he grew out of it. My mum told me stories and tucked me in here, and dad sat with me when I was afraid of the dark... It feels too awkward. I'm sorry. And -- " I didn't say it, but I wondered if he guessed, somehow: Hermione had been here, too, sneaking in to share kisses and light, hesitant hugs, so unlike those we exchanged in public.

"Hmph. Well, suit yourself, then," he told me, rolling over. "I could be taking off those itchy nightclothes of yours right now, you know."

I put out the lamp with my wand, and wished Draco good night.

"Know what I'd do to you right now, if you'd let me?" he asked in the darkness. "You're lying on your back already, all I'd need to do is move a little closer, like so," the bed shifted slightly as Draco turned towards me, "and then I could pull your pants down, just a tiny bit over your hips, so I could see the bottom of your stomach. You have that little trail of hair down there; I wonder, does it feel soft and silky, or is it coarse and thick? I'd stroke you lightly with my hands, just to find out, and then I'd give you a little kiss, right below your bellybutton, and then another, just a little lower, and I'd draw my tongue down, until I touched your waistband."

I self-consciously tugged on my covers, willing my body to pay no attention, but Draco continued softly.

"I'd unbutton your top next; I wouldn't take it off, I'd just open it up enough so I could flick the tip of my tongue over your nipples. You'd squirm, and you'd shiver, and draw that little noisy breath, like you did yesterday -- I'd swirl my tongue around each one, and bite down with my teeth, not too much, just enough to feel them become hot and hard, like little pebbles. I like your nipples, you've got those freckles all around... " He licked his lips noisily. "I'd move back down again, feel your hard cock through the flannel."

Hearing Draco say the words 'your cock' made my stomach do a little flip, and I took a deep loud breath.

"I'd lick it all over," he said casually, "if you'd let me."

My hands and his met at the ties of my pajama trousers, colliding awkwardly, until he relented and waited until I pulled apart the knot and wriggled my legs up and out. My heart was pounding somewhere in my throat, my stomach practicing intense acrobatic maneuvers; when Draco's hand clasped around me, I bit into my lower lip, hard. Nothing and nobody in the world was more important than his breath as it tickled over the very tip of my cock, hard from the moment he'd started speaking. In the darkness of the room, I couldn't see his face, but I knew he was looking right up at me when he whispered again. I could barely believe the words as they poured over my skin.

"May I suck you... please?"

"I... you... " I stammered weakly, but there was no time to think as something silky and moist closed over my prick, drawing it into a hot, tight wetness, as something -- _oh, hell, his tongue_ \-- snaked around me and began to slide, slowly, maddeningly, all the way down. His hair fluttered over my thigh; I'd never thought to offer him a trimming charm, mum usually did that for me, and -- _No, don't think of mum_ , I screamed at myself, _don't think of anything but those lips, those soft lips that kissed your face and your chest and your neck, and now they're kissing you somewhere you'd only dreamed about_... I thrust up with my hips, causing Draco to gag slightly; immediately, his other hand moved to augment his mouth, stroking the base of my cock, my balls, as he slid his lips up the shaft.

"Draco," I gasped, my voice sounding foreign and strange to my ears, "I want to touch you, too... move, oh, hells, now!"

He didn't remove his mouth from me for even a moment, but the bed creaked traitorously as he turned around, so his arse was inches away from me; I cautiously probed forward with my hand and met the back of a naked thigh.

"When did you take off -- oh!" His fingers found mine, grasping them surely, pulling them forward between his legs until something solid and hot pressed against my palm.

"Put your hand around it," he breathed, lifting up his head, "oh, like that, yeah -- " and then he swallowed me whole.

My own cock felt a bit thicker in my hand, but otherwise, I reasoned, this was no different that touching myself. I sat up slightly, braced on my other arm, and carefully dragged my fingers over his shaft, waiting for some sort of reaction. He breathed out heavily, sending a shudder through my own body; encouraged, I moved my hand a bit faster, trying to settle into the comfortable rhythm I was so familiar with. It was strangely difficult to concentrate.

Draco was sucking me intensely, making little slurping noises that echoed through the room; the slap of my hand against his thighs was like a mantra, a long chanted spell that was coming ever closer to its inevitable conclusion. I fisted him harder, my movements clumsy and erratic, as he gripped me with wet, suffocating heat. I pushed against his mouth with a dull slap, only dimly aware of his tongue gently licking me clean, of his hand suddenly covering my fingers around his cock, jerking them quickly and carelessly until he let out a sharp, satisfied moan.

"Next time, I want to try to do that -- to you," I whispered into his shoulder as we lay listening to the ghoul rattling something farther upstairs.

* * *

The nightmare wouldn't leave me. Strange arms shook at my shoulders, twisted mouths chanted gibberish and spat in my face.

"Where is Malfoy?! Where is he, tell me! Now!"

"Weasley is our king," someone said in a sing-songy voice, "king of the weasel den." The voice sounded strangely like Draco's, but it didn't belong to the Draco I knew.

"All Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford," Professor Snape lectured. "Mr. Weasley, you'd do well to write that down."

"I didn't do it! I didn't, I didn't!" my Draco screamed, stretching a bloodied hand out to me. "Ron, you've got to believe me, I didn't do it! I didn't kill him!"

He was standing right in front of me now, so close that our noses almost touched, and there was a smudge of dirt across his face.

"Tell them, Ron, please! I didn't do it! I didn't kill Headmaster Dumbledore!"

Then I _knew_.

I bolted upright, suddenly awake. My legs felt sticky, tangled in the sheets, but I was in safe my room, in my bed. Yawning, I felt for my wand on the nightstand, and swished it through the air.

"Lumos!"

I wasn't alone in the bed. Sleeping next to me, his bare chest rising and falling serenely, was Draco sodding Malfoy.

"You," I hissed, jabbing him with the point of my wand, "all this time it was you, you vile disgusting git, you!"

Malfoy blinked owlishly.

"Ron? Not morning yet. Whaddaya want -- " and then his eyes opened really wide, like a baby's. His lower lip quivered. "Oh. Oh, Merlin, no!"

"Oh, yes, you bloody bastard, yes!" I growled almost gleefully, and jabbed him with the wand again.

"Ron," he said in a very small voice, "Ron, please! Let me explain!"

"Nothing to explain, Malfoy. In a moment, I am going to move. Then you will get up, get your things, bugger off and never come back."

"Ron, it wasn't my --"

"Shut your mouth," I whispered. "Shut your lying filthy mouth. Get out. Go! Go now before I hex you with every hex I've learned!"

"Please," he tried once more, "please, Ron, I can't leave now! Severus, he's either dead or he's coming for me, you have to understand, you have to --"

"No, it's you who needs to understand. I don't have to do anything for you. Not now, not ever."

I stood up, never taking my wand off of him.

"Up, Malfoy. That's it. Now, go down the stairs. You know where the door is, so go ahead and fuck off."

I couldn't help it. I watched him through the window as he ran across the moonlit field, a great bitter lump forming in my throat.

* * *

Somebody was pounding on my skull -- no, my door -- with fists that seemed to be made of iron. I lifted my heavy head off the pillow first, then sat up experimentally. It took quite a bit of effort, but I remained upright.

 _Draco,_ I remembered. No, not Draco. _Malfoy_.

The insistent knocking continued.

"Oh, what could you possibly want?" I queried the door, but it didn't answer. Instead, an achingly welcome voice yelled my name.

"Oi, Ron! Wake up! It's eleven o'clock, your mum's reheated breakfast twice!"

"Harry?" I rushed to the door, throwing the lock open.

"How've you been?" he asked after the obligatory hug.

"Eh. Nothing much happened around here, thankfully," I said, my stomach doing leaps and jumps all the while. Harry would need to know about Malfoy -- not all the details, of course; his whereabouts would do. And this time, there was no spell to make me question the wisdom of my decision; no little voice in the back of my mind suggesting that I ought to leave everyone else in the dark. I wondered how Malfoy had done it, but Harry and I could get to that later, for now I had to catch Harry up on --

"I've got some news," Harry said darkly, sitting down on my bed, and thrust a Daily Prophet at my hands.

" 'Former Hogwarts Professor Severus Snape Found Murdered; Death Eaters Responsible, Says Auror Squad,'" I read out loud, willing the headline to make sense.

"Death Eaters? But he was..."

"Read the rest of the article," Harry sighed, pointing at a paragraph towards the end.

" ... it is plain that the victim had been subjected to lengthy torture, spanning days, possibly even weeks. That, combined with the traditional Dark Mark left over the victim's residence is a strong indicator of You-Know-Who's responsibility..."

"They tortured him, and then they killed him," Harry said quietly, and sighed. "I wish I could say I was... sorrier than I am. I wish I... Whatever the reasons, Voldemort didn't consider Snape one of his men, that much's certain. Maybe he'd served his purpose, maybe he really... I don't know. He's dead, Ron. So much of it all has been for nothing!"

 _He deserved it_ , I wanted to say, _him and Malfoy both_ , but I couldn't force the words out of my mouth. Harry and I sat there for a bit, not really talking, each of us wrapped in our own thoughts, waiting for something -- anything -- to start feeling better. It didn't.

* * *

By mid-afternoon, I still hadn't found an opportune moment to tell Harry about Malfoy. First, we came downstairs for a late breakfast with mum, Ginny, Tonks and dad, who had the day off. The three of us -- Ginny, Harry and I -- had to be as careful as possible in discussing school options for next fall. Even if Hogwarts would not be forced closed, Harry's plans for the summer hardly implied a return to classes and books. Hermione was expected to arrive later in the evening by Floo. After we'd eaten, Harry insisted on helping mum with the cleanup; as soon as the tablecloth was no longer sticky and the dishes were put away, Ginny dragged him outside to 'enjoy the summer air', as she'd put it. I knew I was hardly welcome along, but I shuffled out of the house nevertheless, hoping to catch Harry on their way back in, and started slowly down the field.

Hermione would be here soon; this third one out business was for the birds, I thought. Maybe we could finally talk it out, stop being just the kind of old friends that everyone inevitably expected to hold hands. Mum would be happy. Hermione would be happy. Harry and Ginny would be happy. I would be... well, I'd be a liar, but nobody would know.

The path to the forest was so familiar that I took it without hesitation. Only when I noticed that the flat stretches of grass around me had become fir trees did I stumble; 'Malfoy is there', I reminded myself. Snape hadn't given him up after all; I wondered how long it would take Malfoy to figure that out. It occurred to me that without any reassurances one way or the other, he could be on a search of a new, safer place to stay. Even if I didn't bother removing it, the ward I'd placed at the entrance to his cave wouldn't hold for much longer; he might have already left, for all I knew.

That thought made me feel rather foolish. I had had Malfoy defenseless in my room, and instead of hitting him with an Impedimenta or a Stupefy, I had not only allowed him to leave, I'd insisted on it. As much as I would have preferred to go just about anywhere else, it seemed that one more visit to the cave was in order. If Malfoy was still using it -- well, I had a wand, and he did not; and if he wasn't... If he wasn't, then good bloody riddance, I decided, and hurried further down the path.

Maybe it was because I couldn't make up my mind about whether I wanted Malfoy to be there or not, the walk seemed to take an inordinately long amount of time. As I finally approached the clearing, I stopped to prepare; reaching into my pocket for my wand, I felt something round and squishy next to it. Lifting the mystery object out into the light, I saw that it was an orange I had unwittingly saved from breakfast, following a weeks-old habit. Angrily, I lobbed the fruit into the bushes, took a deep breath, and stepped out into the glade.

I couldn't see into the cave very well; it was a murky dark even though the sun still reached down through the trees.

"Er, Mal -- Draco!" I called, gritting my teeth. "It's me! Come out, if you're there! We've got to talk!" I was aware that my voice didn't sound very sincere, but I hoped Malfoy wouldn't notice. "Draco! Draco?"

There was no answer; he was probably gone then. Damn.

It was still a good idea to look inside, anyway, I decided; perhaps the git had left without taking along all of the things I'd brought him.

"Draco!" I yelled, just in case, "Draco, I'm coming in!"

I stepped forward, and immediately wished I had not. My foot must have gotten caught on something, I surmised, seeing the cave walls whoosh past me, and I landed heavily on the ground. My wand clattered somewhere to the side; pain shot immediately through my knee, my ribcage, my chin. Leaning on an elbow, I lifted myself up slightly, vaguely sensing some movement behind me, but before I could do anything else, I heard Malfoy's satisfied voice.

"Incarcerous!" he shouted, and I collapsed again, as thick ropes wound around my ankles and my wrists.

"Mobilicorpus!"

The world turned itself around once more as I felt myself being lifted into the air, and deposited, none too gently, on the ground far back inside the cave. Malfoy's face floated into focus above me, as did my wand, clutched in his hand.

"Well, then. Much better," he smirked, pointing my wand at me again. My feet dragged on the earthy ground. I could do nothing as he propped me into a sitting position against the wall.

"Did you like my little substitute for a Trip Jinx, Weasley?" he asked, twirling my wand between his fingers. "I nicked the rope from your shed on my way out. Very nice of you to have left it unlocked. Of course, it's nowhere as nice as the real thing, but now that I've finally got myself a wand... Oh, just think of the possibilities!"

"Let me go, Malfoy!" I growled, pulling at my bindings.

"Or you'll do... what, exactly? That's what I thought. Now, I hardly imagined that you would be the first to test out my clever rope trick, but thanks for letting me know it works. And for this, of course." He spun the wand around with a flourish. "Now, I'd love to stay and chat, but unfortunately, I've got to run -- things to do, people to run from, you understand. Cheerio!"

He turned around, sliding the wand into his pocket, and headed towards the cave entrance.

"Malfoy!" I yelled. "You can't do this!"

"Just did," he threw over his shoulder without stopping.

"Malfoy!" I cried in desperation. "Draco, Snape isn't coming for you! He’s dead!"

From my miserable spot, I could see his shoulders droop. He stopped, standing still for a moment, then slowly turned around.

"He's... dead? How do you know? Did... did your... did Potter... who?"

"It was in the 'Daily Prophet' today," I replied, feeling an unpleasant tightness in my chest, "the Dark Mark was over his house. I'm sorry," I suddenly found myself saying.

"I see. Somehow I doubt you are here just to tell me this. Still, that simplifies my plan quite a bit, so..." He looked me up and down. "I am going to return the favour by not leaving you here to languish and starve. I'll end the restraining spell once I'm outside, right before I Disapparate."

"You made up a whole plan in the time since you've picked up my wand?" I asked incredulously, giving up struggling for a moment.

"Sort of," he said, staring past me. “Yeah. Actually, no, not really. I figured I'd just get as far away from here as I could. It sounded rather impressive, though." He sighed. "Listen, Weasley -- I'm glad it wasn't... I'm glad it wasn't your people that did it. Because then I'd have to hate you."

"Oh, that matters, does it? You think I don't hate you? I do! I hate you, Malfoy, I hate you for being, and I hate you for what you just did, I hate you for lying! I hate you!"

"I never lied to you," he whispered, moving his glance to his own feet. "I told you my name. It's not my fault you didn't recognize it. That's how Fidelius works."

The Fidelius Charm. Of course. That would account for the constant mental nudging, the inability to perfectly recall his face, not knowing his name...

"Snape. He was your Secret Keeper." _He was the man you let fuck you_ ran through my head, and I quickly banished the image of Draco on his knees, his hands buried in Snape's robes, his mouth --

Draco nodded.

"That first day," he said, looking me straight in the eye, "I hated that it was you. I almost left before you got back, but I was waiting for him, too. And then you showed up with food and blankets and even a light, and all those plans -- it all seemed too good to waste. And then... In any case, that's a moot point now."

"But you did lie!" I exclaimed, knowing I was grasping at straws and doing it anyway, because just letting him leave a second time was... shameful? Ridiculous? "You said we went to different schools, and we didn't! You went to Hogwarts, same as I!"

I didn't expect Draco to start laughing, but he did. The laugh was harsh, bitter; there was no mirth in it, and Draco's eyes were narrow little slits above that cackling mouth. I noticed suddenly that I was still thinking of him as 'Draco', as if we still had a right to each other's first names. 'Malfoy', I tried to mentally correct myself, but he was still laughing in that thoroughly disturbing manner, and I couldn't concentrate.

"Do you honestly think we went to the same school?" he asked, kneeling down across from me. "Think about it, why don't you? You went to class with Potter and Granger, you sat in the common room with those brothers of yours. Your school was governed by Albus Dumbledore, and that... Hagrid, and, well, Potter again, and you played Quidditch because you wanted to, and you were a Prefect because they thought you'd do a good job. That's not the school I went to, and you know it. Slytherin House was the last resort for those who didn't end up in Durmstrang, and Goyle and Crabbe never let me out of their sight because their fathers wouldn't allow it! And it didn't matter what classes I went to, because I only ever had one homework assignment, and I couldn't bloody do it, because it was too fucking much, because I was weak and stupid and didn't deserve to live, and Severus, he died because of me! Everyone I care about is dead, or as good as dead! How many people were fucking murdered by the Dark Lord because you couldn't cast one sodding curse?”

"Draco!" I managed, feeling the magicked ropes cutting into my ankle. "It wasn't just any sodding curse!"

"Wasn't it? Only I didn't cast it, and what did that gain me... Oh. Oh, if he -- if Severus is... My father's next, do you understand that? One sodding curse I didn't even cast, but it's killed four people all the same, and me, too, sooner rather than later --" Draco's shoulders were trembling, his hands clutched into white-knuckled fists; he was blinking his eyes rapidly, far too rapidly.

Suddenly, Draco stood, wiping at his face. Reaching back into his pocket, he withdrew my wand and leveled it at me as he slowly backed away. A great heaving sob almost swallowed up his listless "Finite Incantatem", but the ropes restraining me slowly loosened, as did his fingers around my wand. It clattered to the ground at his feet; Draco made a strangled, desperate noise, turned around, and ran out of the cave.

It took me several moments to comprehend what had happened. I rubbed at my reddened wrists and stood up, wincing at the pain that still gnawed at my knee. My wand lay in the dirt, inches away from the rope Draco had stretched across the cave entrance; it was still warm when I picked it up. Stepping out of the cave, I saw him running towards the creek, his shirt a wavering spot of white among the trees.

"Oi, you!" I yelled, dashing after him, but Draco kept moving, and didn't turn around. I intensified my pace as much as my knee would allow, cursing all rope and its creator to the lowest pits of hell. The forest was two lines of blurry green to my sides, the white shirt was getting ever closer; a few more leaps and I could reach out and grab for it --

"Bugger!" I gasped, stumbling over a great big tree root.

The world was feeling very much like something out of “The Adventures of Miggs, The Mad Muggle”, as I plowed into Draco's back. My chin and his shoulder blade came painfully together for one moment, and in the next, we were tumbling to the ground, awkwardly trying to brace against the dirt.

"You _oaf_!" Draco hissed from below me. "Get up! I think you broke my leg!"

"Good!" I breathed heavily. "I was hoping for your head, too, but, hell, accentuate the positive!"

"Just lift up, you sodding wanker! Move!"

"I can't, you're lying on my arm," I yelled right back, "you think that's comfortable?!"

He turned his head towards me -- there was a bit of blood on his right cheek, I noted with satisfaction -- and then he _wiggled_ slightly against my stomach.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

"Trying not to spend the rest of my life with a rock wedged in my armpit, what does it look like I'm doing! You ought to try it -- you know, getting up, I hear it's all the rage these days," he growled, arching his arse up into my thighs.

My arm was beginning to feel as if every last inch of it was poked with sharp little needles; struggling, I managed to extricate it from under Draco's chest, lifting up ever so slightly. At the same time, Draco performed quite a complex wiggle, succeeding in fully turning over, although his legs were still tangled between mine with startling familiarity.

"So, going to hex me now?" he inquired, looking up at me. "Take me to Potter, call in his pet Auror Squad? Or did you not think this far ahead?"

"I..."

"No plan at all. That's what I thought," he breathed, craning his neck up so that our noses were practically touching. And then his mouth was on me, salty and hot, his tongue pressing into my lips --

"Mmph! Draco, are you mmpph --" I tried, but his hands were rubbing shivers into my back, and I was letting my arm slip back under him, grasping at his shirt, his arse through the threadbare trousers, and he was moving, moving, his hips drawing circles against me, and mine were doing the same, and oh, hell, I felt my zipper being drawn down, his fingers pushing aside the cloth and gripping and sliding --

"Draco," I whispered, my voice hoarse and tight and maybe I said something else, too, maybe "want you" and "fuck" and "oh" and his name again, but I couldn't really tell, because my lip was trapped helplessly between his teeth and both of his hands were down _there_ now, and I was sure that he must have had extra fingers, enough to cover the length of my cock in fast, frenzied strokes, and to knead gently at my balls and to slip into my arse cheeks and worry at that one spot right there and -- I thought that this time I did say "oh, hells, don't stop", but he didn't even think of stopping. He was kissing me, softly, gently, that taste of sweat, or maybe tears, still on his tongue; we took little breaths together and then it was back into the delicate press of his lips, while his hands worked me, insistent and slick from the droplets already beading at the tip of my prick. I groaned; suddenly, the hand that had been stroking up and down my arse dipped a little lower, a little farther -- I growled as I realized Draco had slipped a finger inside me. Draco was everywhere, I was full of him, his tongue and his hands moving in a maddening rhythm until it was all just too much. I was trying more words, but he swallowed them all up into his mouth, our lips still together as I was coming into his gripping hand.

He wiped his fingers on the grass.

"How pathetic you are. You _hate_ me -- or did you forget? Or is that all it takes to clear my name in your book, for..." he grabbed at my wrist, looking at my watch, " six minutes?"

"Draco --"

"Don't you 'Draco' me," he spat, pushing his knee against my softened prick. "What's next, telling me that a handjob's what you came out here for? Look at you... One quick wank and it's 'Draco' again, not 'vile disgusting git'. You loved it, sucking on my filthy mouth! Maybe I ought to talk to Auntie Bella about this -- letting me out in front of the troops starkers -- Potter won't be able to compete. Certainly beats the Killing Curse when it comes to entertaining execution methods."

"That's not funny!"

"Wasn't meant to be," he shrugged. "Now, would you just do whatever it was you meant to? I am tired of waiting, for him and for you." He lay back, stretching his arms in the dirt. "There, I've made it easy for you. Get your wand out."

"You're... giving in?" I muttered dumbly, obediently reaching out with my wand arm.

"I've evaluated my chances," he said serenely, watching me stand. "Who was I kidding -- stolen wand or no, I'm lost. I don't fancy dying tired. So, go ahead, drag me to Potter. I'd walk on my own, but I wager bringing me in bound and gagged looks so much better on a hero's resume."

I stared at him, lying in the grass and dirt at my feet, his grey eyes wide open, his mouth stretched in a resolute grin. I lifted my wand.

"I know who can keep you safe," I blurted out suddenly. "It might take some explaining, but I know I can convince her." As soon as I said it, I wondered what in the world had possessed me to make the offer, and shook my head.

Draco sat up.

"For Merlin's sake, just give me your wand. I'll hex myself. Honestly, are you sure you are on Potter's side?"

"Draco, I know who can help you," I repeated, bending down to grab him by the arm. "Get up, we're going to go talk to her."

"Mad," he shrugged, "absolutely bloody raving. What are you on about?"

He was staring at me, blood crusted on his raised eyebrow, his teeth clamped tensely over his lower lip in that achingly familiar fashion, and I realized I just couldn't stand it.

"I don't want to take you to Harry, alright?" I said, closing my eyes so I wouldn't have to look into his. It didn't help. Even through my tightly shut eyelids I could see Draco lying in my bed, his head propped up on his elbow, smiling shyly. _This is Draco Malfoy,_ I reminded myself, _Draco the arsehole Malfoy, Draco the enemy Malfoy,_ but that didn't work, either. _He lied to you and he used you,_ I tried again, but there he was, hanging his soaked clothes over a gnarled branch, biting at his lip before telling me about his mother. _Everyone I care about is dead_ , he yelled, running from my bed in the darkness.

"I don't want to take you to Harry, or the Aurors," I repeated, still not looking at him, because all I could see was my arms wrapped tightly around his skinny body as we lay in the prickly straw.

"What the fuck _do_ you want, then?" he snarled, "what in the world could you possibly want? Tell me, because I am simply dying to know!"

"I want... " I whispered in confusion. "I want... I don't know, alright? I don't know what I want, I only know what I don't want. I don't want this to be the last time we talk."

Draco rolled his eyes; I forced myself to ignore the sneer that was his standard response to most everything.

 _I want you to be safe,_ I thought. _I want this fear and pain and, I don't know, all of this, this threat, to be over. I want you to wait for me, so that when I come back, we can figure this out. I want to come back to you._ But I couldn't say any of that.

"Look, I just need you to trust me right now," I finally told him, holding tightly onto his arm.

"Oh, that's rich," Draco muttered, but didn't try to yank his arm out of my grasp. "So, where are you going to take me, if not to Potter?"

* * *

"It smells funny in here," Draco complained as I shut the shed door behind us. I chuckled inwardly; it was amazing how quickly his demeanor changed as soon as he felt more confident about a situation.

"You're not going to stay here for very long, alright? I've got to talk to her first, and I can't very well march you through the front door now," I instructed. "Argh, I think I hear Ginny. I'm going lock you in here. I doubt anyone will want brooms tonight, but still..."

"I'm not going to run," he sighed. "I think I've proved that already."

"I know."

I peered through the cracks in the door; the garden seemed clear.

"I'll try to be back as soon as possible, and I'll get you something to eat, too."

* * *

Walking through the door, I saw that I'd missed Hermione's arrival. She was sitting at the kitchen table with Harry and Ginny, nursing a cup of tea.

"Ron," she smiled, getting up, "there you are!"

"I've been out -- walking. Just... thinking about the news, and everything," I explained, pouring some tea for myself. "You've seen the Prophet..." I trailed off.

"Oh, Ron," she said, coming up to give me a quick peck on the cheek. I blushed, allowing her to hug me, feeling like the biggest arse in the world.

An uncomfortable silence ensued for a few moments, interrupted only by the clinking of the kettle against my cup, and the creak of the chair as I settled at the table. The four of us stared at each other, and then, suddenly, Harry smiled.

"Ron," he said quietly, "I'm not afraid." He'd clasped Ginny's hand under the table, and was now extending the other across the tablecloth. "I know -- that it's too soon, that it's... it won't be easy... But I am not afraid." He took the cup out of my hands, gave my fingers a quick little squeeze.

 _"I'm not afraid with you,"_ Draco whispered, looking up from his side of the bed.

"I know," I smiled back. "I know."

 

After everyone had gone to bed, I came back downstairs, just in time to catch Tonks coming in from her nightly patrol.

"All clear," she grinned, hanging up her cloak and putting on a pair of slippers. "What are you still doing up, Ronnie?"

"Tonks," I asked, trying not to stammer, "does it bother you that Professor Lupin's a werewolf?"

"Why would you ask that?" she furrowed her pink brows, and gave me an appraising look. "It bothers me that when people hear 'werewolf', they think 'dangerous', when they hear 'full moon' they think 'Fenrir Greyback', and well, you know Remus isn't like that. Would I prefer he didn't have to go through all the trouble of finding quality Wolfsbane potion, especially now? Yeah." She grimaced. "I am pants at potions. But I know what you mean -- I think. Remus is Remus, and everything else doesn't matter."

"Thanks," I told her. "Listen, Tonks -- can we go somewhere, er, where nobody can -- somewhere... quiet. Private. I have a favor to ask you, but before I can do that, I've got to explain some things. A lot of things. You see, there's a boy who lives in a cave in the forest... "

* * *

 _  
"Tonks'll be here in a bit," I say, watching Draco bite into a roll. Last night, I took her out to the shed to meet, as she said, her new cousin. It was a strange sort of meeting. Draco was guarded, unsure, Tonks was trying her best to be understanding, and I... I was just awkward. She walked Draco back to the cave afterwards, without me, so they could talk. I don't imagine it got much more comfortable between them, though. She looked in on me when she got back, to tell me she'd help, to my relief. I wasn't completely sure until she said it; I was biting my nails the entire time she was gone, and they were a sorry sight, ragged and uneven._

 _"Hmph," Draco chews and swallows. "Think it'll work? She's not exactly the superb spellcaster, even if she is family."_

 _"You know, for someone in constant danger of --"_

 _"-- being killed," he interrupts, "yes, yes, I know, I'm not nearly gracious enough. I won't pretend to understand why you are doing this, or why she hasn't gone and told her bosses all about me. For what it's worth, though, thanks. Oh, and Ron --" he cocks his head at me and blinks. "I'm sorry. You know, for everything."_

 _"I'm not sorry," I smile, and I think I mean it. There are footsteps outside, and a dark silhouette blocks the cave entrance. "There she is. Well, I guess this is good bye."_

 _"Yeah."_

 _We stand up, awkwardly staring at each other, then Draco steps forward, closer and closer to me, until our noses almost touch. He smiles crookedly, and presses his lips to mine for just a moment, salty and wet._

 _"Bye," I whisper as he pulls away. "I've got to go forget."_

 _His face turns serious._

 _"Ron. I'll remember."_

 _"Yeah." I walk out of the cave, brushing past Tonks; she grips my shoulder as I pass._

 _"Hey. It'll be all right."_

 _I nod. After the dim cave, the bright sunlight hurts my eyes, and I rub at them angrily, hearing Tonks's voice asking if Draco is ready. He must be, because the air around me crackles, and Tonks yells "Fidelio" and I blink, once, twice..._

 _"Ronnie!" Tonks calls. I turn around. She's standing in the cave mouth next to a thin blond boy I don't know. He's looking at me with a strange crooked smile on his face._

 _"Don't ask," she says. "Order business. Got to go. Tell Molly I'll be back later tonight, okay? Oh, almost forgot -- here." She presses a folded up note into my hands, grabs the boy's sleeve, and they vanish with a loud pop._

 _I walk slowly down the forest path, back to the field and the Burrow, resolving to find out what's going on from her tomorrow. It doesn't seem important enough to worry everyone about, I decide, and I let mum know Tonks will be back late, and nothing else. I don't open the note until I'm ready for bed, and for some reason, I lock my bedroom door before I read it._

 __I'm a secret, waiting for you _, it says in narrow, unfamiliar handwriting. Bizarre. I shrug, crumple up the paper, and shove it under my pillow._

 _By morning, I forget about it._


End file.
